Life after LEJOG

Life after LEJOG

Life after LEJOG began on the approach to Inverness during a phone call from girlfriend Sarah. To set the scene, I was still buzzing from crossing the Cairngorms in one hit. Half-jar of whiskey in backpack to be consumed at next camp spot outside Tomatin. Tomorrow, Inverness. All is well.

Ring ring, ring - "Guess what -" she said, "I've got a transfer to Torquay. And I'm going to move there. Permanently. Do you want to come with me?"

I didn't need to think about that. LEJOG is a very long series of grabbing opportunities when they arise, without dithering. Torquay: friends, seaside, fish and chips, those giant Devon hills - immediately I said, "Yes!"

We spoke for half an hour as I made my way towards Tomatin on a path beside the A9, identifying landscape features only ever seen from the plane. And it all made sense. Move to Torquay and begin again, with or without the blessing of my employer. There are higher callings. 

That set the course for my thinking for the rest of LEJOG. It was arranged that I would fly back solo, as I was set to finish much earlier than planned. Originally, Sarah was supposed to fly up to meet me; we'd spend a few days in Inverness before home. But that wasn't to be. There would be no hanging around. I'd finish on a Sunday, travel back to Inverness on Monday and fly home on Tuesday. The only gripe with that tight timescale was that I wouldn't get to spend a day at John O'Groats, the object of many great efforts. This gave me the motivation to walk the last section in four days instead of five so I arrived on the Saturday and had Sunday all to myself, which I particularly enjoyed. I spent hours combing the beach for the perfect souvenir stones, my favourite of which is a sedimentary black rock with gentle grey striations, hard as iron. The beach stones up there are honest and simple. I loved their look. 

The beach at JOG.

          

The journey home was staggered between John O'Groats, Wick, Inverness, Heathrow, Little London and Basingstoke. The bar manager in Departures let me keep some souvenir Black Isle Brewery beer mats, and actually shook my hand when I told her why I wanted to keep them, and where I'd come from. Encounters like that only happen on LEJOG.  

The weather gods were not kind to me, perhaps because I'd reneged on my part of the deal; "He only gets good weather if he walks 10 or more hours a day, not if he cheats and uses transport." Which meant I only saw Tomatin from the window, a fair chunk of the Cairngorms which moved me deeply and later, from 37,000 feet, the epic saga of the three mighty bridges across the Firth of Forth - forever chiselled into my memory. After that, all was cloud.

My father kindly picked me up from the airport. We were pleased and in some measure relieved to see each other.

I got to spend a few days alone at the house with Ralph the Chug - very welcome company. I walked him up the road to work, popped in and said hi. I'd decided to return on the 18th. I needed down time. This was okayed. 

Sarah returned from her Aegean cruise at the weekend. The following day we were on the train bound for Torquay for a four day break. Well, I had a break. She had a formal interview and the task of negotiating the move. Fortunately the owners of the holiday lodge said we could stay there until the new year. The move was officially on.

Walking 900 miles in 36 days does a few things to the human body. It sets the metabolism raging. It burns fat (I lost 10 pounds) despite eating everything I could lay my hands on. And it causes a huge spike in physical fitness. I gave it six days before chancing a run. I managed 40 minutes, no problem. I ran again along the seafront at Torquay. And several more times back in 'stoke.

I then got into it much more seriously, going out before work four or fives mornings a week, extending my aerobic base, seeing how far I could push it and for how long. I had one eye on the Basingstoke half marathon, however that was on Sunday 1st October, just too soon after LEJOG to get in enough meaningful training. I held off, kept at it. Three weeks after the Half I ran the full half marathon distance in 2 hours, before work - not quick but a workable start. And this morning I ran the same in 1 hour 55. 

I've signed up for the Farnborough Winter Half on 21st January, an exciting prospect. With more focused training hopefully I can run a sub 1:45. We'll see. 

As for work, well - I was forced to hand my notice in due to incompatible ideas. In truth, post LEJOG me hated being back, stuck in an office suffering from Yes Man syndrome, bored, playing the same old jazz day in, day out. The bullshit I was being fed was simply no longer tolerable. After LEJOG, I don't get on with bullshit. Only the early morning runs and the guarantee of imminent change got me through October. And the black rock on my desk. Every time I look at it - smell it, for it smells of the bitter saltines of the Pentland Firth - it reminds me what I'd had to do to find it.     

 

Another affect of the walk, and the running, has been to massively increase my interest in many different subjects. Books have again become fuel to me. Of particular interest is the exploration of that rare clarity of mind and deed one obtains from extreme exercise, harsh conditions and focussed concentration  - presence of mind. The present moment. No thoughts of past or future. This is where things happen without conscious thought. One simply is. And acts with precision. For example, balancing on a paper- thin crumbling verge by the side of the A9 with no escape routes as a giant timber rig and a giant fuel tanker coincide at my precise location, both streaming long trails of traffic. The rig on my side passed so close I could smell the metal. But I stood there, waving them through, drinking sips of water, in perfect balance. I had to, there was no choice. One slip and I'm crushed under the wheels. Moments like that warrant further investigation.

I've been listening to the voice recordings I made during the trip. They're helping me write the book. Of particular interest are little gems like a certain drunken ramble on Day 4 between Launceston and Roadford Lake:

"I don't want to wake up tomorrow and give Tomorrow Me a kick in the balls, eventually I'm going to be Tomorrow Me, tomorrow. I'm Now Me now, and Now Me now is thinking about Tomorrow Me  and how I don't want to give Tomorrow Me too much work to do, because I'll have to shift my payload onto someone else, and that someone else is me, but tomorrow...[sigh]...this is a very long winded explanation..."  

A friend of mine asked me, "What's life like after LEJOG?" Altogether it's much richer and more meaningful than I could have wished for. LEJOG is life in another gear. And I love squeezing more out of it every day. 

Meditating (?) sheep near Culbokie.